


First Daughter

by aelins, Chaol



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Politics, Drugs, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Feyre is the First daughter, Intrigue, POV Feyre Archeron, POV Rhysand (ACoTaR), Past Abuse, Tamlin is HORRIBLE IN THIS, Tamlin is just a first rate asshole, Underage Drinking, beginning with feyre, feyre is 20 in this, kind of, ok buckle in!, told in alternating perspectives
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:22:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 20,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26357158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aelins/pseuds/aelins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chaol/pseuds/Chaol
Summary: Feyre is out of control. She's prone to getting in trouble, and her spoilt rotten, good for nothing boyfriend is not helping matters. Her father, President Archeron, is tired of watching his daughter fall into the same traps her mother did, before her untimely death.Feyre wants to live, but what if she's just driving herself into an early grave?Enter Rhysand Night, the only man who has ever treated her as a person and not a liability.“What am I missing?” Feyre asks hollowly.“All the colors you can’t see in the dark.”
Relationships: Elain Archeron/Azriel, Feyre Archeron/Rhysand, Nesta Archeron/Cassian
Comments: 73
Kudos: 71





	1. swinging from the chandeliers

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Olive and an Arrow](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15640263) by [sadboykylo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadboykylo/pseuds/sadboykylo). 



> Welcome welcome! So this is co-written with my dear friend Lyddy. The chapters will be written in alternating perspectives, the first one being in Feyre's perspective, and the next in Rhysand's, etc etc. This seems like it will be at least 5 chapters, but we will see! 
> 
> Come talk to me on [tumblr.](https://cassiansiphions.tumblr.com)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This work is dedicated to Ruth Bader Ginsburg, and her legacy of justice.

Feyre’s hips move to the beat of the music, and she wonders if the man behind her is appreciating the three hundred lunges she’d put in at the gym that day. From the way Tamlin’s hand cups her ass like he’s touching a diamond—she reckons he is. 

The party is wild and out of control. Several people have been sick all over the floor, and she knows Tamlin has likely blown a few lines of coke—thus he reason he hasn’t propositioned her for a blow job or more. 

They move to the music as one, his front to her back, and she wonders… if it will keep the darkness in her heart at bay. Maybe that’s too deep of a thought to be having at an underground rave where people are fucking in the corners of the room. 

But lately, she’d been feeling more subdued and Tamlin had been wilder and wilder. A siren sounds and she drops the drink in her hand, as Tamlin had taught her. If they didn’t catch you with drugs or booze (given that Feyre was under twenty-one) then they let you go, because there was nothing to hold you for. 

Tamlin comes to his senses a moment later, hauling Feyre from the room. There was a back entrance and he presses her against the wall, his now apparent erection pressing into her belly. 

A growl falls from Tamlin’s lips, and she thinks he might take her right here… but then he’s pulling her back to his Audi. Sirens sound in her head that it’s dangerous for Tamlin to drive like this, coked-out, and drunk. 

She quiets that part of her, because Tamlin was a good driver, regardless of his state of mind. Feyre hops into the passenger seat and he speeds off into D.C. traffic. 

She sticks her head out of the sunroof, which he’s got wide open, and she screams her joy to the heavens, not noticing the camera taking a picture of her wild behavior. 

She doesn’t think of her poor father, the leader of the free world. Because Feyre was not just a wild party girl, but the First Daughter. 

*~*~* 

President Archeron shoves a picture of his daughter under his new blade’s nose. She was with the blasted spoilt, rich, good for nothing—he takes a deep breath. 

The other man in the room is quiet. Rhysand Night is his name, and President Archeron is aware of his special set of skills. 

“I think you know what needs to happen. She’s out of control and she’s going to cost me the election.” 

Rhysand’s eyebrows are near his not-quite-yet receding hairline. He was lucky, many men in this business didn’t have a thick head of hair as he did. He’d never thought the job was anything to lose his youth over. 

At thirty-two he’s feeling the job more than ever though. 

He nods at the President, and says grimly, “Consider it done.” 

*~*~* 

Feyre is hauled out of Tamlin’s bed by force, it’s a gentle, masculine force but a force nonetheless. 

“Alright, let’s go princess.” 

The strange man touching her barely clothed body is greeted with a punch to the nose, which strikes true, though not with force. 

“Tam!” Feyre squeals with fear. 

Tamlin rolls over in bed, away from the situation. 

“Apologies, my dear.” The man who is Secret Service, now she has her eyes open, pulls out a badge, she takes it, standing there in nothing but last night’s makeup and a very sheer negligee she reads it and then shoves the badge into the man’s chest. He’s taller than her petite form, and she’d like to say that this is _not ok_ with her. 

“Stop looking at my girlfriend, you old man,” Tam says angrily. 

Feyre turns and feels, rather than sees Tamlin’s anger radiating off him. 

Rhysand’s laugh fills her heart, “Listen, _punk_.” Feyre sighs, “You have the First Daughter in your bed, you may have been vetted, but that does not mean POTUS condones this relationship.” 

Feyre’s teeth grit together. “Just get out while I get dressed ok?” 

Rhysand’s eyes never go lower than her chin, a fact she finds admirable. Tamlin was already pulling her back into bed. She had to kiss him, morning breath and all, and then get dressed. She catches sight of her phone and checks the time. It was nearly noon. 

Christ, she had shit to do today. She was volunteering at the art gallery. 

She bustles out of Tamlin’s bachelor pad and finds Rhysand waiting for her outside with a large, black SUV. 

“Oh, so we’re going incognito?” The sarcasm dripping from her tongue like bitter blood is a sign of her ill will. As if the black SUV didn’t say exactly who she was. There was a troop of them, three in total and she didn’t know why they bothered. 

She was exhausted, and she could feel the serotonin being leeched from her brain from the party drugs she’d done the night before. 

Rhysand cracks a smile, “The President wants to see you.” 

Feyre rolls her shoulders and gets into the SUV. 

*~*~*

“Honey I don’t see why you need to keep seeing this boy,” Her father’s words are annoying and patronizing in the extreme. 

“He’s the love of my life!” Feyre snaps back. 

President Archeron wags his finger at his daughter, “I don’t care if he’s a real-life prince charming! He’s leading you down a path—“ 

Feyre sighs loudly, and gathers her things, “He’s not leading me down a path I wasn’t already on!” 

President Archeron frowns and gets into her space, “Young lady, don’t start this, your mother died of a heroin overdose,” it was a little known fact, that she didn’t like to dwell on. The addiction gene ran strong in their family. 

Bitterness builds in Feyre. Rhysand stands there stoic as ever, she’d love to wipe the ‘I’m hearing but not listening’ look off his face. 

“I don’t care!” Feyre bursts out. “Mom never gave a damn about you, and she didn’t give a damn about me. Maybe I’ll be lucky if I get out of this family with just an addiction.” She knew it was last night’s drugs and their depressive effects that were making her lash out like this. But the shame didn’t come until after she’d burst out of the Oval Office, Rhysand in tow. 

“You must be my new baby sitter,” Feyre snaps over her shoulder as she goes to the White House gardens. She always felt at peace here. The memories of the past always seemed so far away. 

Her hair billows in the wind, and Rhysand takes her shoulder in his hand, preventing her from truly walking off. 

“Princess.” It’s a command and it’s said with quiet reverence. 

She brushes him off, “Don’t call me that.” 

“Ok, Miss Archeron.” 

Amusement lights her features, “You’re not like the other ones, the other agents, they treated me like I was an incendiary device waiting to blow their careers up.” 

Rhysand shrugs noncommittally, “You are who you are, I’m not here to change that, I’m just here to keep you from killing yourself while you realize that Tamlin’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve any part of you.” 

Feyre swallows hard, Tamlin had become more and more possessive and needy as the months had progressed. She figured it was just their honeymoon period ending, but there had been a rawness to his need last night… no, she wouldn’t think of that right now. 

She’s got a light jacket in her arms, and she surveys him over her Gucci sunglasses. “I don’t want to die, Rhysand, I want to _live._ ” 

He nods, “Have you thought about that?” 

She tosses the light jacket at him, feeling the mood was far too somber. “I don’t even know you…” 

He catches the jacket midair, plucking it out of the air like a basketball player, “It doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re too busy trying to drown your grief in pills and liquor to recognize what you’re missing.” Rhysand is giving her a pitying look and she nearly slaps it off his face. 

“What am I missing?” Feyre asks hollowly. 

“All the colors you can’t see in the dark.” It’s such a beautiful answer to such a complex question, she’s stunned. She knows her mouth is open, and she knows this is the wrong time and the wrong place, but she’s on him. 

She kisses him, and he doesn’t kiss back for a long moment. But when he does… she knows she’s made a terrible mistake. His lips are warm and smooth against hers and she shouldn’t be doing this. 

Rhysand pulls back. His eyes are glassy and far away. 

“Don’t—“ his voice is a steel blade, “Ever. Do. That. Again.” 


	2. into the dark and terrible night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A confrontation and Feyre makes a choice that will determine her fate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! This is Lyddy - this is my first official attempt at any sort of fanfiction. It's being posted a bit earlier than we'd planned, partly in thanks for the amazing reaction that the first chapter got!! And also because we're just really excited for it! So thank you so much for being interested in this story and I hope this chapter will be as fun for y'all to read as it was to write!

Suddenly he’s a thousand miles away and in someone else's arms, lips he didn’t ask for against his own in a kiss he’d never wanted. It’s a thought that swirls in his mind trying to cloud the job at hand, swamping him in a mire of feelings he’s never dealt with. Yet he relents, lips moving against hers—because piercing through the fog and cloud of pain is something different. It’s her. Yet he cannot give in—it doesn’t matter that even after everything she still tastes like a breath of cool midnight air. Violet eyes spark as he catches her wrist—using that hold to gently push her back. Lips are stained from her kiss, pupils blown wide as he’s been drawn into a story that he can’t share. At least not yet. 

_ Don’t ever do that again. _ There’s particular emphasis on each word, this is too close to Amarantha. But what he fears now as he stands there—eyes caught on hers, isn’t the proximity to the woman who tried to ruin him, or even the lack of professionalism—it is the terrible emotions that overwhelm him. Rhysand has been frozen behind castle walls, protecting others, protecting himself, by never giving way. Never feeling—getting by with smirks and an arrogant reputation. Yet in a swift shattering moment she was undoing it all. 

There’s a clench of his jaw as he steps back, “I know something about losing yourself, you’re not trying to destroy anyone else. Just yourself. And sometimes, you go to people who can break you because it’s easier to get them to do it than to do it yourself. You’re not gonna blow up on anyone Feyre, you’re going to implode on yourself. What you’re doing now? It isn’t to hurt anyone else, it’s to hurt yourself.”

Rhysand inhales deeply and continues, “Tamlin? The douchebag? He’s a symptom of a problem, he’s no good for you—and you know that. But you stay because—because there isn’t anywhere else to turn. Well here you go, here’s somewhere else to go. You won’t go alone. I’ll go with you. Into the dark and terrible night, where maybe you’ll find it isn’t all darkness and doom. Sometimes the midnight is kind, sometimes the stars inspire you to dream, and sometimes you find that you are stronger than you think and you’d never know that in glaring daylight or under strobing lights.”

The words sink in, filtering beneath the facade she’s wearing. They survive by wearing masks. Masks to hide pain, insecurities, vulnerabilities—because being strong means those things don’t show… Right? Before she can even reply—he finishes, “If you really want to live you’ll be brave enough to stop just surviving. I’ve just met you, sure. I got a briefing of a few facts who no one really gives a fuck about. You saved your family, when they didn’t care to save themselves. And maybe your dad thinks he hired me to keep you safe, and maybe that’s what I’m going to do. But I’m not here to babysit you Feyre darling, I’m here to set you free.” 

A thousand emotions play across her face, there’s rising anger that makes an appearance, there’s a brief desire to possibly slap him across his smug face. Rhysand isn’t sure what stops her from that, he can tell her muscles have tensed to raise her hand—but there’s something happening. Shoulders square as she meets his gaze levelly, “For not knowing me you sure are feeling free with all the judgemental bullshit. And for the record, I’m no one’s darling.”

His lips pull to a knowing smile, “I was you—and in some ways I still am. But that’s a story for another day, Feyre darling.” 

There’s a distinct drawl on the last word - getting under her skin was as effective as inspiring her it would seem. 

Scoffing she reaches for her phone from her pocket, he rolls his eyes—nabbing it and opening the back, removing the battery and snapping the back on again before handing it over. “Didn’t you notice? Everything you do reaches the twittersphere before you’re even done doing it? Whatever your plans were, they’re cancelled. We’re going on a field trip.”

Feyre made to grab for the phone, stronger and faster than he’d anticipated, but he did remember something in the file he’d declared useless—about her having been athletic, but he was banking on her being artistic. “How dare you—“

She interjects before his diatribe is over, but falls silent as he mentions the speed at which her movements were reported. There might be merit to it—if only he wasn’t so damnably arrogant about everything. 

“So what are we going to do? Go stare at cherry blossoms? Sorry they’re out of season.” Adding as much scorn as possible—Tamlin might be an asshole, but at least he didn’t act like he knew better about everything. 

Except if she dwelled a bit—she might find that he did act like that. Rhysand continued to stand there, arm offered—like some dark deity swearing the way he’s guarding is the best path. At this point, Feyre was realizing that maybe it was. Reluctantly, she took his arm - better to just go with it and hope he got sick of playing the dashing knight.

“I may be good at my job, Feyre darling, but even I can’t make cherries bloom in Autumn. I can however—take you somewhere much better.”

Rhysand was well connected, his family had been long time supporters of the Smithsonian, even donating extensive collections when he’d come to control the family art holdings. “There’s a new exhibit, early impressionism and romanticism. The Night Collection’s premiere debut.”

Not mentioning it was his collection, or used to be. Feyre stiffened on his arm as they walked, brow wrinkling, “That wing is closed until the collection premieres next week, what are you going to do—break in? ‘ 

He released her arm, stepping to the edge of the sidewalk as he whistled for a car, “Hardly—I’m going to go give the okay on the arrangements. And you’re going to be calling the shots. See if the Manet’s should be next to the Monet’s, and determine if I’ve given a little too much room to the Cezanne. ‘ Rhysand was looking more smug than ever as the black official SUV rounded the corner, he opened the door for her with a teasing boq, “Your chariot awaits.”

*~*~* 

It is a largely silent ride, she stares out the window attempting to ignore him. While piecing together the bits of information he did drop—her father had introduced him as Rhysand Night, surely he wasn’t the Rhysand Night who’d disappeared off the face of the earth for over a year after he’d left his position as security. Feyre only remembered the story because Tamlin had mentioned that Rhysand had worked for Amarantha—who Tamlin’s family had known as part of a working relationship. Of course—it was the same Rhysand, down to the midnight hair and haunting violet eyes. Then there was his reaction to the kiss—she’d almost be offended if she hadn’t been so annoyed with him. 

Rhysand for his part keeps to his phone, not forcing her into conversation, he was planning on getting her a clean phone. Surprised her former security hadn’t already secured her some sort of consistent digital security sweep, Amarantha’s team was getting information on Feyre from somewhere, and Rhysand was determined to figure it out. Taking this job was a risk he’d known, his first high profile case since his year long sabbatical. Was it clichéd to admit it had been a cabin high in the mountains? 

The museum itself was half a blur, yet Feyre grew more animated than he’d expected. Something that pleased him—more than he should admit. Watching her interacting with a curator as she inquired as to the placement of a particular masterpiece, something clenched in his heart. 

Feeling was going to be a damnably uncomfortable thing wasn't it? A mad part of his mind formed a life around her in his imagination, the other part reminded him that she  _ wanted _ Tamlin. And she was his charge, his duty—his job. Yet the taste of her lingered in his mind, he couldn’t place it—but he realized that he was never going to forget it. Thankfully, he was terribly good at pretending. He hadn’t survived years in Amarantha’s employment for nothing. 

Rhysand moved just behind her—a hand going to the small of her back as he murmured just for her ears, “As much as I might enjoy watching you run the show—we’ve got to get you to classes this afternoon.” His voice was an entertained drawl. 

Feyre stiffened slightly as his hand just barely touched her back, but somehow the warmth continued to radiate even after the touch ended. This was going to be exceedingly inconvenient wasn’t it—not actually hating him as she’d so wanted to upon first meeting. Yet there was a nod, “Right - there were some I should have gotten to this morning.” A dark brow arched in amusement, “You were .. preoccupied.”

Less fire coated her words than he’d been prepared for, and he seemed less arrogant to her than he had a few hours before. Maybe they might make a go of—almost friends after all. It was better to get along with your security than lament them. Yet those thoughts were chased from Rhysand’s mind as he offered his arm to her—his gaze going to who was bursting through the taped off entrance. 

_ Tamlin.  _

With all the grace of a crazed hormonal blonde bull elephant, Tamlin was charging towards them - something Rhysand didn’t feel comfortable with the burning in his green eyes. Quickly moving her behind him -- one arm keeping her back as he put himself between the two of them, it didn’t take long to realize the rage was directed at him-- not her. 

Small blessings really. 

Tamlin’s fist connected with Rhy’s chiseled jaw, an audible crack—that was going to bruise—And hurt like hell. Rhysand’s hearing was distorted from the direct blow, he’d been distracted—more concerned with keeping Feyre out of the way than interpreting who exactly Tamlin was after. 

A rookie mistake—one he won’t be making again. Feyre however has a front row seat, the to Rhysand’s fluid grace as he’d gotten her behind him and into the arms of the agents who’d been waiting just behind them—and then taken a hit square to the jaw and still stood somehow. 

Trying to break from the agents to stop Tamlin before he pummeled Rhysand—she was screaming, “Tam! Stop! He didn’t do anything! Just what my dad asked! Tamlin!” 

Yet none of it seemed to drift through the haze of rage, fueled as Rhysand spit a mouthful of blood on the pristine floors-a slow cocky—deadly—smile forming on his lips. Teeth stained with blood—there was something predatory in his violet eyes as in a perfectly calm voice he spoke. “You have no idea how pathetic you are do you?  _ Or do you _ ? And that’s why you like to hurt her?”

If Rhysand’s goal had been to enrage Tamlin further, then he’d succeeded. However if de-escalating the situation was optimum, then in that he’d been an utter failure. Tamlin flew at him again, bellowing, “Stay the fuck off my girlfriend!” 

Rhysand’s dark laughter echoed in the largely empty room, “Do you really reduce her down to that?  _ Your girlfriend _ .” He sneered the word as if it was filthy curse, “Do you have any idea who she really is? Sure she’s the president’s daughter—but you don’t know anything beyond that she’s got a great ass and drop dead good looks. You’re too stupid to even know anything about her. I’d almost feel sorry for you if you hadn’t left a mark on her.” 

This time when Tamlin launched at him, Rhysand was ready— years of training had led to this exact moment. His fist diving directly into Tamlin’s ribcage driving the air from his lungs. Tamlin accomplished little more than rumpling his clothes as he grabbed onto him. A hiss of rage as he clawed at him. This was likely to turn into an actual fight—but Feyre had broken free now, dragging Tamlin back with one of the other agents. While Rhysand was taken back a few steps—giving room for it to calm down. 

Feyre was yelling at them both -- teeth clenched as the pain in his jaw was multiplying. His hearing was still roaring - and now to top it off his fucking hand felt like it had hit a mac truck. Tamlin might be stupid but he was built like a golden ox. 

Feyre was leaving with Tamlin—Rhysand hadn’t heard the details—but he got the picture. There was a hiss, he wasn’t in any shape to accompany her—so he nodded to the other agents. “Stay with her, _ out of sight _ .” The last few words are spoken nearly as a threat. “But you know where she is—and give her this if you get the chance. I took the battery out of hers, but clearly didn’t stop him from knowing where she was. My line’s secure—“ 

And with that he watched the woman he was charged with protecting leave with the source of a great deal of her trouble—but he couldn’t make that choice for her. It had to be her choice. Rhysand could only hope that the agents he’d sent with her could keep her out of trouble. Hand went to his jaw, rubbing the blood that stained his lip and cheek—waving off the curator who finally was now brave enough to come check in concern. This job was going to be the death of him.


	3. cause she don't like roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhys agree on one thing... Tamlin is a terrible person.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, Vikki here, we're updating a little later than planned, but I think it's quite worth it! The next chapter begins the Feysand romance in earnest. There's some really emotional and heartfelt content coming your way. Lyddy and I have been hard at work and we are so excited! 
> 
> Graphic Violence in this chapter!

As soon as they’re truly out of sight—Tamlin turns on her, like a pitbull. 

“What the hell were you thinking?” He shouts loud enough for people in adjacent hallways to hear. He’s directly in her space, his tall, imposing body too close for comfort. 

Feyre cowers, “He’s my bodyguard Tam—“ 

“He wants to fuck you, did you see the shit-eating grin on his face?” Tamlin’s fist is bloody and all she can think is that it’s  _ Rhysand’s blood on his hands _ . The beautiful, clearly broken male who was just trying to look out for her. 

Feyre backs away from her boyfriend, and Tamlin advances, backing her against the wall, in the narrow corridor they’re facing down in. He must’ve mistaken her fear for something entirely different because she’s not feeling very happy about the way his lips press to hers. It’s forceful and nearly bruising. 

He eases up and the moment of fear gives way to passion, and they’re all over each other. She knows this is poisonous passion, the kind of passion that comes with anger and spite, and leaves her hollowed out. Tamlin backs away from her, seeming to have sated his anger—and passion—for now. 

“I love you, don’t make me prove it like that,” Tamlin’s words stick in her mind, like a fly to sticky tape, and make her feel nauseous. 

Did he mean it? It was a strange time for him to finally return the sentiment when she’d been telling him that she loved him for months. Distantly she knows this is not love, not by a long shot, this is passion left to fester, and turned dark, like the quickly drying blood on her boyfriend’s hands. 

She can’t stop thinking of what would happen--if she truly left Tamlin for good. 

She spies two secret service agents, discreetly watching them. She takes Tamlin’s hand and they walk to his Tesla. 

Something in her is shaken. 

*~*~* 

Feyre is attempting to do homework, she’s sitting on Tamlin’s bed, and he’s trying to kiss her. She swats him playfully, trying to remind herself why she fell in love with him in the first place. 

He catches her hand on in vice grip. 

“Whose phone is that?” Tamlin asks and his voice is cutting, bruising and she knows that tone of voice all too well. 

The phone was a fancy iPhone, she’d always been an Android user, and the case had fallen stars on it. She shrugs, and she figures if she’s going to be hit she might as well tell the truth. 

“It’s Rhysand’s the agents gave it to me when they checked on me after the fight.” 

Tamlin’s voice is a low rumble, “What the  _ fuck _ Feyre.” 

Feyre closes her book, and looks at Tamlin square in the eye, “Go ahead.” 

Tamlin gives her a nasty look, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says in a patronizing tone of voice. His fist clenches. 

“Come on, do it,” Feyre says, her voice tired and broken, Rhysand’s face and his words about all the colors she couldn’t see in the dark. Well, there was one color she could see in the dark. Blood red. Her voice is expectant, taunting. 

Tamlin’s fist cracks into her cheek. 

The night progresses and by the time he’s done with her—there’s very little that isn’t black and blue on her body. 

There is no passion, only hatred for her. 

*~*~*

She sees Rhysand the next morning, after the fight with Tamlin. Feyre had been truly afraid, and there had been no way to reach her team, her mind had gone to Rhysand in that moment, his bloody smile when Tamlin had come out swinging. She’d held her head high and kept from collapsing in on herself, although she was as much a dying star as anything else in the great, wide world. She’d taken every blow with dignity, never crying out, only shielding herself when possible. 

Rhysand doesn’t need an explanation. He can see very clearly what had happened. And as she stands in front of him, she feels like the hug he gives her, and his whispered words of comfort are undeserved. 

They walk and talk, and Rhysand hugs her. Feyre finally begins to perk up, and she feels less like the darkness is trying to swallow her whole. 

“Tell me about her,” Feyre says, and the wide-eyed look Rhysand gives her is warning enough. They’re smelling roses in the white house gardens, and the blood-red of the roses remind her of the way blood had sprayed from her nose when Tamlin broke it. 

“About who?” Rhysand asks though he seems to be hedging. 

“The woman who made you take a sabbatical? Did something happen between you? It must’ve been a bad break up.” 

Rhysand's usually arrogant and mischievous face betrays nothing, he might as well be a stone gargoyle. “Another time, Feyre darling.” And his tone conveys that he’s quite shocked that she’d figured all that out on her own. 

Rhysand steers her inside the white house, and not long after she’s standing in the reception hall to the Oval Office. 

President Archeron leads his daughter into the Oval Office and dismisses the secret service staff. Launching into a shouting match with Feyre, she gives as good as she gets. The sound of tinkling glass causes Rhysand to interrupt them. “Is everything ok Mr. President?” 

President Archeron is towering over his daughter, looking angry and afraid. “Agent Night, I need you to take my daughter to the hospital.” 

When her father is done with her she feels like she’s been run over by a truck, and the President hadn’t lifted a finger against her—she’d been the one to throw the china tea cup. 

Rhysand’s voice is gruff when he steers her into the waiting dark SUV.

They’re silent for a long moment, then— “Are we really going to the hospital?” 

“Yes.” 

She scoffs, “They need my consent to treat me! I’m  _ fine _ .” 

Rhysand gives her a sad look, and the darkness in his violet eyes… it speaks volumes about how serious this is. 

“I heard him in the hallway,” Rhysand began, “You may not realize this, but there are Secret Service agents near you nearly twenty-four hours a day. We have to, Feyre, because of—“ 

She quirks an eyebrow, “Because of my horrible taste in men?” She means it as a taunt, but Rhysand’s face falls. 

“I don’t think you have horrible taste in men, I mean you kissed me—“ 

That gets her to smile, “Tamlin would kill me if he knew about that.” 

Rhysand squeezes her hand, and she winces. Feyre’s wrist is a mangled black and deep purple bruise. 

“What happened, Feyre darling, I need you to tell me everything.” Rhysand’s voice is sad and his face seems drawn. 

“He found your phone on me,” Feyre says, her voice small. 

“So he beat you, and broke your wrist?” She knew Rhysand was a powerful man, in his own right. But the authority radiating off Rhysand did not terrify her, no, it was his competency that made her answer him. She knew he wanted the best for her--even if she didn’t. 

“I’m  _ fine _ .” And there’s an edge to her voice, though there is also a weight on her shoulders now she cannot deny.

“No.” Rhysand’s statement of the truth carries a razor’s edge this time, “No, Feyre darling, you are so far from fine it is not even funny.” 

*~*~* 

She makes her statement, and she has no choice but to file charges against Tamlin, though she does not look at Rhysand when he rubs her back. 

“Why don’t you go out to lunch with Nesta and Elain,” Rhysand says a little too cheerfully as they walk out the hospital. 

“You’re going to get my shit from his house aren’t you?” Feyre clearly knows too much for her own good. 

Rhysand hesitates. They’re alone, and he doesn’t have the panicked look on his face from when she kissed him. She leans into his strong shoulder in the back of the SUV. Feyre is under no illusions about her role in this. 

“Princess,” Rhysand sighs, “It’s best if you’re not there, ok?” 

She’s tearful all of a sudden, and now Rhysand does look panicked, “It’ll be ok, now you’re away from him.” 

She sniffles, and he proposes probably the best idea she’s ever heard. 

“I think you should take a vacation. I hear the mountains are really nice this time of year. Leaf peeping is fun.” 

Feyre frowns, “You think I need time to process or what—?” 

Rhysand’s voice was a painful mix of concern and frustration, “I think you need to get the  _ hell _ out of dodge.” 

Feyre remains quiet and she lets him call her sisters, to make arrangements for lunch, she lets Rhysand pick up the food from the deli. She feels utterly broken. 

*~*~* 

Lunch goes well, Elain and Nesta both pour sympathy and mimosa’s down her throat. When she leaves she feels better than she has in weeks. Both her sisters were in graduate school, Elain for business, and Nesta in medical school at Georgetown. 

“Come on girl, we’re going to go shopping,” Nesta says cheerily. 

Feyre smiles, “I need to stop by the house,” by which she meant, the White House, “apologize to dad.” 

Nesta gives her a quizzical look and Elain scoffs, “He was horrid to you. And you want to apologize?”

Elain pipes up, “Let’s get you a cute swimsuit instead, daddy won’t mind if we use the black card.” Feyre rolls her eyes, Elain had called their father daddy for much longer than was normal. Elain was an entity all her own. She was going to business school so she would be able to open her own flower shop, and not have it crash and burn like so many others. 

Feyre blows a strand of hair out of her face, looking nonplussed, “Ok, ok. Let’s go.” 

*~*~* 

Rhysand knocks sharply three times on Tamlin’s door, and Tamlin must know what the three official-sounding knocks mean because he takes his time getting to the door. There's a giggle and a purr from a woman he’s very sure isn’t Feyre. 

Tamlin opens the door, his imposing frame leaning in the door jamb, “What the fuck do you want?” Tamlin snaps. 

“Perhaps the woman you’re cavorting with in there would like to know that you beat your  _ other girlfriend _ so badly she had to go to the hospital this morning. She still had blood on her face the last time I saw her.” 

Tamlin makes a _tsking_ noise, “She’s making a mountain out of a molehill.” 

Rhysand’s fist swings backward before he can even think of the consequences of bashing this man’s brains in. 

_ Protect and defend _ . Those were the words going through his head as Tamlin, unprepared for the assault on his person, gets punch to the face, after punch to the face. 

Finally, after about five sucker punches to Tamlins, chin, nose, both eyes, and his head, he begins to fight back. The girl Tamlin had been balls deep in is screaming, pleading for them to stop. She’s blonde and looks like she has as much sense as her looks suggest. 

“She’s mine!” Tamlin snarls, and his bigger body slams into Rhysand. 

Rhysand is plowed into the wall, his back and bad knee screaming at him. He knows that they’ll both be in trouble after this—if Tamlin’s rage doesn’t turn him into a murderer. 

Tamlin takes Rhysand and holds him by the throat against the wall, air becomes a precious commodity. 

Rhysand turns red, and the woman who’s watching bashes Tamlin over the head with the bedside lamp. 

The tinkling of tiny shards of glass ring in the air and Tamlin crumples. Rhysand gulps fresh air, and after he’s caught his breath, calls for backup. Unfortunately, he’d thought he could deal with Tamlin on his own. Rhysand had never been more wrong in his life. 

Secret Service agents descend on the mess, and Rhysand slips away, Feyre’s clothes and all her possessions that remained in that godforsaken apartment, bundled in Rhysand’s arms. 

He could barely walk by the time he got to one of the many SUVs parked outside. 

Morrigan, his friend, and a total kickass woman approaches him, “Holy shit Rhys—“ 

“It’s nothing.” Rhysand grits out. But his knees nearly buckle.

Mor scoffs, and clicks her tongue, “That guy is  _ bad news _ ,” she radios for an EMT, and Rhysand collapses. 


	4. sometimes the stars don't shine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Archeron Sisters and the Night Boys alone in a woodland cabin... What could go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyddy here ! Writing this with sanktaleks has been so wonderful, she has inspired me - transported me with her writing - and honored me with all of her ideas. Y'alls feedback on this story we love has been so wonderful and I appreciate all the support! 
> 
> This chapter I admit I poured my heart into even more than I knew I had in me - and I hope you like it as much as I liked writing it!

*~*~* 

CHAPTER 4 

*~*~* 

This was something they’d all needed, it had been a moment of genius to get Cassian and Azriel involved. A week away - time to heal and recuperate. “Are we there yet? “ it’s unsurprising that it’s Cassian who's grown impatient with the road trip, he’d eaten his share of the snacks thirty minutes in and had since been half dozing. “No - you just asked that twenty minutes ago. “ Azriel the ever patient replies, Elain snickers and leans to murmur something to Azriel -- something just between the two of them, something that draws a smile to the eldest Night brother’s lips. 

Cassian’s hand is about to reach into the container of pringles open beside him, a snap as skin hits skin -- Nesta Archeron halts his progress towards the pringles and moves them out of the way before going back to browsing the magazine. Not even deigning to open discussions. Rhysand manages to bite back a laugh as he nods towards the treeline’s edge - “It’s just through there, you won’t have to wait much longer. Az just drives like a grandmother -- he’s never gone over the speed limit in his life.” Feyre watches the interactions with amusement, Cassian chuckling as he rubs his hand and watches out the windows. They’re not what she’d expected the Night boys to be like, and at first she wasn’t certain how she felt about that. But now? Now she sees how they work - and fit together. 

The rest of the drive is uneventful, the cabin is beautiful when they drive up. The wrap around porch sets the mood, there are pumpkins and even mums and stalks of corn for decoration. If there was ever a perfect place for an autumn getaway it was this place. “Cassian, stay with the girls until we give the all clear -- “ Rhysand doesn’t wait to see if he’s been obeyed, he simply knows he will be. Azriel follows at his side as they move to clear the house. It’s a few minutes later and the two emerge on the front porch giving the all clear. Cassian moves to get the luggage, complaining “Who packed two  _ louie vooton _ suitcases? What do you think this is fashion week?” The emblazoned NA on them indicated exactly who they belonged to, Rhysand couldn’t help but laugh softly as Nesta replied without even looking over at him as she brushed by, “Careful, one is filled with lingerie, the other one is filled with scotch, if you drop  **one** \-- you won’t see the contents of  _ either _ .. “ And with that Cassian Night was silent as a lamb, dutifully carrying the bags into the cabin. 

Feyre and Elain were choosing bedrooms - with Feyre choosing one with the best views over the river and ravine that ran behind the house, and the mirrors over the bed reflecting the view. Rhysand stood in the door, watching her relax as she stood in front of the large window looking out, he moved silently to place the suitcases on the bed. “I’ll be in the room next door if you need me.” It was risky being this close - he usually slept away from his family, the nightmares… The nightmares were never quiet when they woke him. Then again, maybe he just needed to keep himself occupied during the night, and the way she’d been filling his mind with a thousand thoughts he knew he shouldn’t have - it wasn’t going to be difficult to find something to keep his attention.

It turns out that Rhysand is a pretty decent chef, with Azriel handling all the knife work - and Cassian taste testing everything -- dinner was served and together they all cleaned up. “Well I’m going for a walk -- “ Nesta declared, with Cassian, who had overeaten by an enormous amount -- being dragged along for protection. Rhysand had no doubt that he would be up for the challenge, even if he did have a rather carefree attitude when it came to presenting himself. Elain excused herself to wash up, and Azriel was going to inspect the perimeter before showering and getting to bed early. 

Leaving Feyre and Rhysand in the kitchen, standing side by side -- with suddenly an immense amount of privacy between them. More than they’d had this past week - partly by design. There was too much to tell her, and it wasn’t the right time yet. He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he knew. That instinct had saved his skin any number of times, so he opted to go with it. Feyre spoke first, ‘ Your brothers -- aren’t what I expected. Cassian is --.... And Azriel --.. “ Laughter bubbled up at the inability to describe them, “Cassian is the youngest highest ranking lt in near history, yet he is -- the way he is. And Azriel - has lived people’s nightmares and still finds .. the good where most people can’t - or won’t see it. They are.. Paradoxes. ‘ Rhysand smiles now, affection clear in his gaze. “They got me out of many bad situations, some they also got me into to be fair - but we’re brothers.. What are you going to do. Can’t live with them, can’t live without them. “ There was a loud thumping from outside -- Feyre moved to the window to see the ruckus, Cassian had somehow decided shirtless wood chopping would win him Nesta’s favor… Which judging from the way she was watching? He might not be wrong.

“So -- you’re familiar with cabins then? “ Feyre inquires, pushing again for the story he kept delaying. A sad sort of smile played on his lips, just pulling at the corner of his mouth, “ You might say that -- “ she didn’t want to let it drop - at least not yet.. There was a hum as she edged closer, her hip just brushing his as she cocked her head, “What would you say about it then?” Leaning that little bit closer -- there was a sharp inhale, his violet eyes darkening as he looked down at her. ‘“That now isn’t the time -- and the best stories are heard when they’re offered… Not demanded. “ It was a demeaning sort of comment, but he couldn’t help but push back. Being here -- was reminding him, his -- desire for her was tangling up with the torment Amarantha had put him through, being with Cassian and Azriel -- it was … complicating things. ‘ I’m going to check on Azriel -- ‘ and with that he brushed past her and out of the house. When he finally did come back - her door was shut. And so he assumed, was that chapter between them. 

Rhysand had stayed awake as long as he could - laying there in his bedroom, adjacent to hers -- counting stars through the windows, planning all the things he should do the next day. Skipping through thoughts a thousand miles a minute. Finally -- sleep took him. There had been the mad hope that… if he was exhausted the nightmares wouldn’t come, but they did. Waking as he managed to stifle his own cry - he was drenched in sweat, the bed torn - his body shaking. There would be no more sleep tonight. So as silently as possible, he padded from his room - through the main part of the house to the door, unlatching it and slipping through to the cool night air. Doubtless it was too cold to be out when he was sweat soaked and shirtless - but the cold air grounded him. Taking deep breaths as he sank into one of the swings, head leaning to rest against the chain. 

Lost in thoughts, he barely notices Feyre’s approach until the screen door lets out a low plaintive screech. Worry creases her brow, gingerly -- she takes a seat beside him. “You have nightmares? Of -- the story you won’t tell me? “Rhysand is slow to nod for a moment, “Sometimes you just have to look at the stars, and dare to dream. And hope that someday those dreams come true. “ There’s something so terribly sad in his voice - that she doesn’t know what to say. So instead she curls up beside him, taking his hand in hers. Together watching the stars, until at last he rises, reaching to scoop her into his arms -- “If you stay out here you’ll catch pneumonia -- and I won’t be doing a very good job of protecting you then will I?” 

~

The next day dawns peacefully, Rhysand has slept later than normal, feeling surprisingly rested after the nightmare. He stands on the porch, coffee in hand as he watches Elain and Azriel in the garden. His brother dutifully carrying her garden tote and taking the cut flowers and delicately laying them in place in the tub, watching as they walk by -- Azriel informing him, “We’re going to the orchard to pick apples after breakfast. I’ll have comms on -” Rhysand waves him off, “Comms are always on, I know. Go change into the plaid shirt I’m sure she picked you when you took her shopping yesterday. “ Teasing, but he is glad for his older brother. If Rhysand wasn’t wrong -- the eldest Night tinged with blush as he ducked into the house. When he and Elain left for the orchard, he was not only wearing a plaid shirt, but it matched hers. Yet Rhysand had never seen his older brother ever look quite so pleased with himself. 

Rhysand had a surprise for Feyre later that morning -- and so he brought her blindfolded out onto the porch -- overlooking the ravine, and as he drew the blindfold away. Would be revealed an easel and all the necessary supplies for her to paint, “You mentioned the other day you’d like to paint again --.I happened to be near an art store when we stopped yesterday… “ He was lying, he’d walked three miles to find an art store while the others had bought groceries, but he’d never admit that. A thousand emotions play over Feyre’s face, he’s immediately concerned he’s done something wrong -- but before he knows it her arms are around his neck and she murmurs “Thank you -- I know exactly what I want to paint --.” Lunchtime passes without Elain or Azriel returning, both Nesta and Cassian are strangely subdued. Yet Rhysand thinks little of it, he’d actually managed to sleep last night - and their rooms are the furthest from the pair. So if they spent the night fighting - then that was their own foolishness.

The sun is nearly setting when Azriel and Elain return, carrying totes of apples and everything else she’s bought at the local orchard. Both look -- pleasantly tired, he’s just about to inquire as to how productive their adventure went when Cassian interjects jokingly, “How are you supposed to protect her with your arms full of baskets like a little whipped errand boy?” Without even missing a step or pausing a moment as he walks by his brother - Azriel replies, “At least I don’t cry please please like a little bitch when she makes you cum.” Elain was blushing bright pink, ducking into the house to avoid further questioning from Feyre who had come to see what the fuss was about. Cassian was struck dumb - mouth opening and closing rather like a fish dying for air. Rhysand couldn’t help the amusement and laughter, it was so rare that Azriel sunk to their level of teasing. Feyre crossed her arms, eyeing her eldest sister - who was artfully avoiding looking at anyone. “I thought I heard some strange noises last night. I thought it was just some wild animal --” Finally Nesta glances towards them, “In a manner of speaking. You aren’t  _ wrong. _ ” Rhysand will mark that down as the day Cassian Night was struck speechless twice in one day. It was a truly wonderful sight to behold. 

Dinner is a lively affair, Rhysand has made his speciality - the wine flows freely… With Nesta and Cassian consuming most of it. Elain offers to clean up since it was just Rhysand cooking - Azriel and Feyre agree to help. Meaning that for the first time since this trip has started -- Rhysand is taskless after they chase him away from the sink. The house is full of noise and life - it’s beautiful, seeing the brothers he loved finding enjoyment in the company of such individually special girls. Yet his mind isn’t free tonight, it’s weighed down by the past. A flaming ghost that poisons even the happiest of times. So he excuses himself for a walk, “I’m off to check the perimeter -- comms are open.” Cassian to his credit immediately offers to assist, but Rhysand waves him off, he needs to think. 

It’s nearly ten pm when he gets done, the boys checked in a few times on the comms - he got updates and knows that they all turned in for an early night. A storm is rolling in - thunder in the background as he takes a seat on the porch. His head is no less cloudy, something still -- niggling in the back of his mind, some connection he’s missed, something -- he should know but doesn’t. Such reverie is disturbed when the door creaks open - Feyre padding out on bare feet, coffee in hand. 

“Bribing me with caffeine Feyre darling? As if you weren’t already my favorite Archeron…” his voice is soft, hushed so as to keep it quieter and keep from disturbing the rest of the cabin. Feyre’s expression is thoughtful, handing over the mug -- her fingers just grazing his, her warmth pervading his body like sunlight thawing the coldest dawn. “I wanted to check on you -- you seemed preoccupied. More than usual I mean --.” They had come a long way since they’d met, of course -- they’ve gone through a lot as well. 

Feyre perches on the arm of the chair he’s taken up residence in, the rain beginning to fall now - splattering and dancing on the roof -- the thunder rolling in closer now. Yet it feels almost peaceful - his arm slips around her waist, stiffening for a brief second before she melded into the touch, nesting against his side. They sit like that in silence for a long while, the storm rumbles past - finishing as suddenly as it began, the clouds even beginning to clear as the stars twinkle through like tiny fireflies breaking free of some cage that confines them. 

“I think I’d like to tell you my story, if you still want to hear it.” Rhysand speaks at last, she nods - leaning down her lips brush midnight black hair, her fingers brushing a soothing pattern over his arm that encircles her. “I do. For different reasons than at first -- but I still want to hear it.” 

“When I was a boy -- my mother would take me to the roof of our home, and we’d watch the stars. She taught me all the constellations, and their stories. Some were the stories of her people -- some were the classic greek stories - but they were all… Stories she gave me. Night was never something she feared, instead she loved it. Perhaps why she wasn’t afraid of my father. You see my mother was -- different, she wasn’t like my father - and despite him loving her. They were never exactly happy. Yet she had enormous love to give -- and so I was raised in a loving home, with my sister, and later Azriel and Cassian -- neither of which are my brother by birth. We are a -- made family. Tragedy struck when my mother and sister were killed travelling to the university to see us. My father became consumed with rage - he swore he knew who’d done it, but somehow with rage -- and drink… It became my fault, and shortly after he attacked me. Screaming that because of me -- all he loved was dead. ” A pause as he stared at the stars for a moment, a breath before he continued, “I killed him - I don’t think I meant to, he was -- attacking me and instinct took over, I pushed back and he was drunk and -- toppled over. His head cracked on the ridiculous marble coffee table. I was -- ashamed - so when the police came I didn’t volunteer any information. His drinking had become known -- and no one suspected a thing.”

“But it was self defense -- there wasn’t anything to say.” Feyre jumped to the defense, Rhysand gave a soft empty sort of laugh, “I was fresh into my majority, I’d just turned twenty-one, old enough to inherit everything outright from my father. Even if there wasn’t anything wrong in what I did, it would have looked bad. But I’m getting off track -- anyway, after finishing my military career - and heading to the secret service. I met a woman, Amarantha -- I didn’t like her from the start, but we don’t get to choose our jobs most of the time. So I protected her. Except she wanted -- more, she wanted me.” Feyre makes a noise to interrupt but he takes her hand, fingers tangling through hers as he continues, “I refused. It was unprofessional, and as I said - I didn’t even like her. So being the.. Driven woman she was, she found leverage on me. My father’s death. Worse yet, she had concocted information that would implicate Azriel and Cassian, although neither had even been involved at all. If I did her bidding -- then it went away.” 

Rhysand takes a long breath, “So - for years I was her whore. There’s really no way about it. I did what she wanted, I was paid in her silence. Finally - with Cassian and Azriel riding my ass about it. I quit. She still had the leverage, so I went home -- and I told the police everything. Surprisingly, they kept it quiet while they reopened the investigation with the new information. I spent a year - in a cabin not terribly different from this one, waiting for a call. Waiting to see if I went to jail, or if Amarantha had spilled the story, or whatever hell she could rain down on me. To say I was shocked when the chief of police from my hometown called to inform me that the investigation was closed, and it was ruled self defense and that was the end of it. Amarantha had lost her leverage and I was free. I had no intention of returning to duty, I figured that day was in the past -- but your father knew my record, and I was apparently the perfect man for the job. It doesn’t hurt that Amarantha hates my guts - and that she’s your father’s biggest competition. But -- Feyre, protecting you isn’t political. Wanting you -- to have what you deserve isn’t about the job. It has become -- very personal to me.” 

Violet eyes shift upwards to hers, there’s a storm of emotions on her face, as turbulent as the sky is now calm. Of all the stories she’d expected to hear, that hadn’t been it. Her arms go around his neck as she sinks into his lap - giving what comfort she could. Raising her gaze to meet his, he leaned down -- lips brushing hers. Soft at first, as if warming to the memory it lingered, deepening. His teeth grazing the fullness of her lower lip - hers parting to accept the delicate brush of his tongue. There was no hesitance in this kiss now - and when it finally broke, both were breathless. Rhysand chuckled softly, both arms secure around her as he leaned to whisper against the shell of her ear, “I haven’t been able to get the way you tasted out of my head since that first day. I was screwed from the start wasn’t I?” 


	5. a little more

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feyre and Rhysand learn that wanting does not always mean to burn themselves to ash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY WOULD YOU LOOK AT THAT THE CHAPTER COUNT HAS BEEN UPDATED AGAIN! 
> 
> *evil cackling*
> 
> [suggested listening](https://open.spotify.com/track/4mEILaBM7bKZqKAun5tABu?si=-Ez-LPO6QAWWkfoqozq8Ig)

Feyre wakes up the next morning—and recalls the previous night with a smile on her face. She’d kissed Rhysand for what felt like hours and she’d wanted more, but had refrained from asking. She knew after sharing a story like that, the horrors of his past would be fresh in his mind. She wouldn’t be the one to bring him more pain, not now, not ever. 

As Feyre wakes, she realizes it’s quite early—despite her late night. She can hear the sounds of gentle lovemaking coming from Elain’s room. She puts her headphones on and turns up the volume to give them some privacy. 

She hoped her sisters were happy. She didn’t want them to fall into bed with these men, and then find themselves stuck between a rock and a hard place when they inevitably went back to their base. 

She suspected that Nesta would be the worst affected. Cassian was a General, a strategist of the most ruthless nature—except when he was with her eldest sister. She thinks all this while putting the coffee on, and scrambling some eggs, and putting down toast. 

She sighs a deeply happy noise. Arms come up from behind her, and she doesn’t startle, it’s Rhysand. 

He pulls out one of her headphones. “I think they’re done now.” 

Feyre smiles and turns in the circle of Rhysand’s arms. She moves in to kiss him and he doesn’t back away—as she’d thought he would. 

They kiss sweetly, softly, and Rhysand is the one to deepen the kiss—much to her joy. Their tongues touch and a bone-deep ache settles in her marrow. 

Feyre knows this was probably only supposed to be a good morning kiss—and that it probably shouldn’t have turned into an out and out makeout session. The thought comes and goes, and her arms wrap around his neck, savoring the moment. 

She breaks the kiss, and looks into his violet eyes, she smiles, as she has not done for too long. 

Under Tamlin’s yoke of terror and fear, she’d forgotten what true pleasure was. Not the animalistic rutting Tamlin had given her, or the hours of sucking his cock again and again with no thought to her pleasure. 

Rhysand looks a little too pleased with himself, and she swats his hip. 

Elain and Azriel appear only moments later, Azriel’s hair seems to have found it’s way to only one side of his head, and Elain looks like she’d freshly French braided her hair—to cover up sex hair. 

“Good morning,” Elain says cheerfully. 

Azriel smirks, and despite his bedhead, Feyre thinks they make a cute pair. 

“Certainly is for me,” Azriel says happily, an uncharacteristic smile on his lips. 

Feyre would ask, she’s dying to know if Elain had fallen for Azriel. But that’s probably a question left for later—when the sisters were alone. 

The boys wake up and everyone begins the day. 

*~*~* 

The beautiful weather broke, downpours would keep them in for the day. 

Feyre had been surprised when this morning over coffee, it had been Rhysand and Elain who had been in animated conversation about a particular novel they’d both recently finished, from what she could overhear, the ending was awful. 

Nesta and Azriel were fixing a real breakfast, Nesta had chastised Feyre and said she needed to eat more for how much she worked out—which she hadn’t done nearly the whole time they’d been gone. All this meant that Azriel was working and Nesta was supervising. 

Cassian came over beside her, leaning on the counter as if bone-weary - not a good start to the day. “If you hurt my sister I’ll murder you, just so you know,” Feyre spoke quietly, not a whisper — but low enough only he could hear. 

There was a half-grin on his face as he turned to look her dead in the eye, hazel gaze unwavering, “If I hurt your sister she will gut me and turn me into a designer purse just to ignore me and call me last season’s style —” 

Feyre was about to interject thinking he shouldn’t be so flippant, but Cassian wasn’t done yet - “I don’t want to hurt your sister Feyre, I want to love your sister. So, it won’t be fast — but who knows, maybe one day we’ll be related.” 

Azriel was close enough to hear, and with a loud thwap — the wooden spoon hit Cassian upside the back of the head. “Ow! Az what the hell was that for!” 

Of course, Cassian knew exactly what it was for, but Az smiled tranquility, “I don’t know, you looked like you deserved it.” 

“How can I just look like I deserve it?” 

“It’s just your face — it says throw things at me.” 

“You know he’s kind of right —” 

Rhysand finally interjects, “Behave — all of you.” yet his firmness is belied by the mischievous twinkle in his eyes. “Finish fixing breakfast — I have a surprise for everyone.”

Breakfast was a delicious affair - which left them full, slightly overfed, and desiring nothing more than a midmorning hibernation. 

Until it was discovered that Rhysand’s surprise was nothing other than a movie projector. Along with a selection of classics, including but not limited to, Pretty Woman, Lord of the Rings, and Jurassic Park. What was surprising was that Cassian resoundingly voted for Pretty Woman, and Nesta only threw a small pillow at him when he commented that Julia Roberts was hot. 

That was how the day was spent, each couple—tangled in each other’s arms, or at least—sitting as close together as they dared, the room darkened by rain and stormy clouds, with films playing on a backdrop of an old sheet. Yet somehow it was more fun than days Rhysand had spent at the finest theatres across the globe.

*~*~* 

The next morning, the rain had abated. Fishing was the adventure at hand for that day as Rhysand roused everyone.

Elain had mumbled something about not wanting to murder fish, Azriel dutifully offered to stay and guard her, with Feyre already pulling on jeans and sturdy boots. Opening the door to Cassian’s room - Rhysand did a double-take—Nesta was curled around Cassian’s form in the shape of a large spoon—and was completely naked. 

“Oh convenient, two in one go—we’re leaving to fish. Azriel is staying with Elain. Comms are open.” The sarcastic tinge to his voice was undeniable as he shut the door behind him, he’d seen more of both of them then he’d ever wanted to. 

Feyre raised her gaze from tying her boots, “They’re not coming?” 

Rhysand debated softening the blow, “They’re… otherwise occupied. Elain wants to sleep, and Az will keep an eye out. So I’m afraid it’s just the two of us. Cas looked like he wanted to murder me for interrupting his cuddling session.” Gathering the picnic basket, and tackle box he nodded to the rods and reels, “Can you bring those for me?” 

Agreeing Feyre nabbed them, careful of the hooks, “It isn’t so bad is it? Just the two of us?” Rhysand knows it’s his fault she’s as hesitant to suggest the thought as she is, “It isn’t bad at all — I rather relish the idea of being alone with you, actually Feyre darling.” 

Feyre’s smile lit up the lingering darkness in his heart, there was so much hope in her smile. It shook him.

There’s a soft  _ tsk _ noise as he nudges open the door, holding it for her as they make their way down the small path to the riverside. 

The answering smile she received from Rhysand was—nothing if not radiant, she discovered then just how often his smiles hadn’t been smiles, but just smirks—and sometimes just baring his teeth as if daring the world to come at him again. The man was—multi-faceted. 

Fly fishing was a complex task, he swore it was all in the hips—which meant his front was to her back, standing knee-deep in the lazy river — swaying with each other. By the time they took a break for coffee—Feyre could now say she viewed fishing as an entirely sensual experience and it might never be the same again. 

Needing was a terrible thing - especially when you knew it wasn’t yours to have. Sharing a thermos, they chatted about techniques, where he’d learned—and even who’d taught him. 

His deep laugh answers her question, it was a fond memory and that pleased her deeply. “When I was in basic training, I had a drill sergeant whose passion was making fly fishing lures. You knew you were in trouble when he brought you in, made you stand at attention in front of him while he finessed the lure to the perfect shape. Of course, being bored - I also happened to watch. And learn how to make them. I am the only student he still sends Christmas cards to, I might add.” Feyre’s tinkling laughter was reward enough for the story. 

Somehow fishing turned into napping on the bank with the warm autumn sun warming the rocks beneath them until it was downright toasty. Rhysand held Feyre in his arms, and they slept soundly. They were awakened suddenly—by the sound of two people arguing. Feyre jumped, and Nesta gave her sister a guilty look. 

Elain and Azriel came bearing apple muffins, apparently, their morning had been consumed with baking—among other things. Yet the muffins were a welcome sight after merely boiled eggs and dry toast had been their fishing picnic for breakfast.

*~*~*

The week was quickly drawing to a close. They ran out of bacon on the fifth day, Cassian declared it a national emergency, but it was Rhysand who offered to head into town. Feyre volunteering to accompany him. 

There weren’t many radio stations that picked up here in the mountains, but as they drifted downwards to the foothills, they picked up a few different ones. Including a news channel that was blaring — “ARCHERON SISTERS DISAPPEAR? REHAB FOR THE TROUBLED FEYRE DRAWS FAMILY TOGETHER?” 

Rhysand practically hissed as he slammed the button to turn it off, “Fuck them. They’re just reaching —” He should have thought of that, reemerging into society at all… “Change of plans, we’re making a day of it — there’s a gallery I saw when we stopped here the first day, then a glassblower a block or two over, we’ll have lunch here — and you can call your sisters and tell them to get ready for a night out. We’re going to go have dinner somewhere nice, then dancing. And I don’t mean a rave.” 

A teasing grin as he cast a sideways glance before his eyes were back on the road, Feyre laughed softly, “And what are we going to wear for this night out? I’m in sweats and you’re in jeans —” Though he did make those jeans look damn good… Not that she’d been spending a lot of time staring at how they fit his thighs or anything. “Shopping sounds like it might be needed then - and what better way to explore the town than through commerce?”

Stopping first to order a few groceries, and having them delivered while the boys were still at the cabin - he headed out of the store, offering an arm to Feyre. “Now - gallery. According to the grocer, it’s a collection and a personal showing for one of their original residents, painting in a rustic sort of way. So I’m not entirely certain what that will mean for your artistic sensibilities.” 

Feyre linked arms with him, laughing softly at his description of rustic, “Are you calling me an art snob Mister Night? Mister — _I own a Van Gogh but lease it to the Van Gogh museum_? Mister — _I_ _have three Monet paintings considered among some of his finest work_?” 

Her critique of him won a genuine laugh, “To be fair it’s family art, I just decided it was silly to own art and keep it in a vault where no one could enjoy it. Art is meant to be shared, to inspire — to dream.” 

Feyre gave his arm a soft squeeze, “I couldn’t have said it better myself Rhysand —” something passed between them in that moment, the gradual shifting of their alignment clicked into another gear --one that was drawing them increasingly close. 

The gallery was better than Rhysand had anticipated, he even went so far as to purchase a few pieces for his collection. For which he was mocked mercilessly later by Feyre, especially since he’d been so against the concept of rustic art. 

The glassblower was less interesting for them, while no less artistic - it turned out he specialized in uniquely useful pieces of glass... Bongs. He made bongs. “I should have known, I could practically smell it down the street.” 

Rhysand was brushing himself off after having left the craftsman’s shop - silent laughter shaking Feyre as he tried to rid himself of every flake of incriminating scent that clung to him like a second skin. “Oh sure laugh it up - I have to get drug tested as soon as I get back. I happen to be very sensitive — I think I got a contact high just shaking his hand!” But she was too far gone, laughing until he indignantly picked her up and tossed her over his shoulder carrying her off to the SUV. 

They got a hotel room - to use for changing before they went out for the night. And for her to take a nap after Rhysand had noticed she’d started yawning. They still needed clothes — so giving her the open comms device he showed her how to contact him, and headed downstairs - the beauty of a small town was, next door to the hotel was the sheriff's office. A deputy agreed to stand watch outside her room, and radio him if she needed him. Maybe it was risky - but Rhysand was trusting his gut. 

When she woke from her nap - she’d find a dress bag hanging on the armoire. Along with a shoebox and jewelry box. The dress was almost iridescent in the dimming light of the sun, it shifted and seemed to half glow as she moved it around in her hands. The shoes were soft and supple, heels — but not so high they’d be uncomfortable, but not so low they’d look dowdy. The jewelry was — almost shocking when she opened the box. 

She’d known she was falling for Rhysand, but now? She was an asteroid hurtling toward his heart, about to knock him into orbit around her affection. 

The diamonds set into the necklace are princess cut, and clear as the sky on a summer night. She thinks she might cry--no one has ever done something so nice for her. 

She wonders if she’s breathing--and realizes she isn't--gulping lungfuls of air, she realizes that maybe Rhysand loves her  _ too _ . 

Because there was no way he’d drop this kind of cash on someone he didn’t care deeply for. 

*~*~* 

The night goes late, and she’s a  _ little _ tipsy, she’d been good and hadn’t overindulged. Over the course of six hours, she’s had three drinks, and she thinks that might as well be a herculean effort on her part. Her sisters are still dancing, and she hopes they enjoy their newfound companions. 

Rhysand twirls her in the glowing light of the harvest moon, and she doesn’t miss a beat, she never does when it comes to him. 

And when he dips her in their hotel room, all thoughts of her former lover flee from her head. There is only Rhysand, and their hearts beating as one. 

“I want you,” Feyre breathes. 

Rhysand inhales sharply, “I know, there is nothing else more that I want than to make you mine.” 

Feyre thinks she might endure every bone in her body being broken to hear those words again.


	6. from ruined ground springs life and love anew

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lyddy again ! This was such a fun chapter to write really - I was very nervous but yanno.. I got excited and wrote a lot again haha. Thank you so much for all the support ! It means so much and it's been such an encouragement to write :D

*~*~* 

CHAPTER 6

*~*~* 

Car rides home were never quite as fun as the trip to your destination, because home was a known quantity. Home meant responsibilities, it meant jobs, it means ex boyfriends, it meant -- everything came crashing down. 

Azriel, the saint that he was, had made them a mixtape for the car ride home. Surprising perhaps, but when it was revealed he and Elain had discussed how they didn’t want Feyre hearing the talk show hosts ripping apart her life… It all made sense. 

Nesta had bought Feyre what seemed like a new wardrobe the last day they’d spent in town shopping, but Rhysand couldn’t exactly judge -- he’d bought out the art store of their best oil paints and brushes. Cassian however had been in charge of snacks, which meant that he’d forgotten them. So everyone was a little bit hungry - and a little bit cranky by the time they got back to Manasses and Nesta’s apartment. 

Bags were unloaded, Cassian and Azriel were invited to stay a few days. Azriel had a meeting with the head of the FBI in the morning anyway. 

Sitting in one of the larger, more relaxed sitting rooms, it was comforting in a way - each girl tucked against their own personal Night, well.. Nesta was more sitting on top of Cassian claiming him, and also keeping him away from the last slice of pizza. Elain and Azriel were browsing through her instagram - chatting quietly and keeping their third of the room peaceful. 

Both Night brothers kept sending glances to Rhysand, not necessarily for his attention per say - but to just … sort of watch in wonder as he slipped an arm around Feyre, she leaned against his shoulder, he brushed a kiss to her forehead. The tv flipped channels occasionally as he sought something remotely interesting. In this case an old rerun of Antiques Roadshow was interesting to him -- there was a soft “Hmm…” from him. Feyre raised -- “What is it?” 

“I have those tables by my bed... I have put water stains on them from cups… because someone --” a pointed glance at Cassian, who was still angling for a crust of Nesta’s pizza, “lost my coasters. I’m vaguely horrified to find out they’re worth that much.”

Soft laughter reverberated through Feyre, “If those are your nightstands, I can’t wait to see the rest of your bedroom.” 

Rhysand’s laugh was more of a -- seductive purr, leaning to brush his lips against the nape of her neck as he tugged her closer in his arms, “I can’t wait to show you every inch of my bedroom either -- there’s a particular one hundred and four inch place that’s very soft -- even has silk sheets -- I think you’ll really like it..” 

Feyre was about to respond when he leaned to whisper just against the shell of her ear, “There’s mirrors over the bed too -- so you won’t miss anything… no matter what position you’re in.” His teeth just grazed the lobe of her ear before he went back to pretending he was paying attention to the tv. But really, his fingers had lifted the edge of her shirt, and were rubbing soft patterns over the skin he’d found. 

  
  


Azriel had been watching the exchange, brow raised as he watched his younger brother. Rhysand hadn’t fallen in love before. It wasn’t something anyone had ever seen. It wasn’t that he was out of sorts, but no one -- really had ever thought his life would be like this. Whispering clearly enjoyable things in the ear of someone he cared about? The need for touch? It only cemented the plans Azriel had already begun to form. 

But such thoughts were cut short, Rhysand’s cell rang -- he reached for it. A hushed curse as he scootched her onto the cushion and off of his lap as he clicked to answer. Mouthing to Feyre -- “ W o r k…” 

A brow furrowed, “Yes sir. Everyone reached the White House safely sir. We’re all here together. Yes sir. I see sir --.” 

Then silence as he listened, his features paled. He was rising off the sofa in a heartbeat, walking towards the window. It was something about the set of his jaw, the ramrod stiff back. Cassian and Azriel had both tuned into him - he might be the younger of them, but he’d always been their leader. They knew the sacrifices he’d made when it came to Amarantha, they knew -- the look he had on his face. This was somehow about her. 

Azriel mourned that his brother still felt the need to move away from them when it came to the mere mention of Amarantha. Even from Feyre -- who he’d been growing so close to. Yet -- Azriel’s worry abated some as Feyre rose from the couch, padding to where he stood. Her arm slipping around his waist, her cheek on the back of his shoulder, one hand sliding to entangle with his. Rhysand remained stiff for a moment, before leaning back into her touch. This was different than before - he wasn’t alone. This time the truth would keep everyone safe. 

Finally the call ended, with Rhysand having said very little. A final, “Yes sir, of course. I’ll pass your wishes on.” Exhaling he ended the call, turning to pull Feyre close in his arms. Sharing a moment - him needing her, and him knowing what he was about to say would shake the people in this room--to their very foundation. 

“So -- I got the Secret Service to run your phone I took from you, they had a backlog and since I had gotten you a clean one they weren’t too worried about putting a rush on it. They finally got to it while we were away -- and they decided to call me with the results. Your phone didn’t just have a tracking virus, it had a gps tracker embedded, as well as keylogging software. This wasn’t installed remotely, or by accident -- someone with intimate access to you had your phone bugged and has been using that information to defame you, and tamper with your father’s career. “ Feyre’s face had paled, she’d thought he’d just been paranoid and arrogant when he’d taken her phone that day, but of course -- he’d been right.

Cassian cursed - Nesta took his hand, steadying him. He was a man of action, he wanted names and addresses and he’d handle the rest -- that was his attitude. 

Yet--it was Azriel who asked the pertinent question, as he so often did, “I’m guessing they tracked who the bug belonged to Rhys?” 

  
  


This was what Rhysand didn’t want to say, he swallowed -- hand tightening as he held Feyre’s. “The bug tracked back to Amarantha’s home address. And the fingerprint they got off the physical GPS tracker was Tamlin’s. There’s no way that the bug got there by accident, it was placed under the battery plate in the back of your phone Feyre --- I’m so sorry.” 

Feyre had known Tamlin was no good, she’d known he was a symptom of a greater problem for her - and she’d been taking steps to remedy that. But to find out he’d been working with someone who wanted nothing but to spread filth about her? Her family? And then knowing what the woman had done to Rhysand -- she was speechless. 

Knuckles white with rage as she clenched her fists, drawing back from Rhysand’s touch. It wasn’t that she didn’t want his touch, or that she didn’t want to comfort him -- it was just in that moment she was seeing pure red. A rage that was meant for Tamlin and no one but him, and she didn’t want that feeling to taint Rhysand. She had raged at him enough, and she’d seen him broken enough to know that he didn’t need her rage. Her balled fist jabbed into the pillow beside her, anguish building inside her. Clenching and unclenching her fists as she stared at her hands, crescent whitened marks from her nails digging into her palms. There was so much that had been ruined, so much that had been corrupted. Would they be able to recover from all of this? Would she? --Would Rhysand? He was still standing there, looking -- lost, and terribly terribly alone.

“What do we do?” It was Elain who spoke now, scooting forward to the edge of the couch. Azriel’s hand on the small of her back, his other covering her hands where they worked anxiously in her lap. Rhysand had thought Elain and Azriel had been an odd pairing, the unlikeliest out of the bunch. Yet as he saw her defiant tilt of her chin, the flash of fury at the hurt someone had caused those she cared about. That she was willing to fight, to fight for Feyre, for her family -- and -- he realized as Elain’s eyes raised to his violet ones, the empathy radiating from her gaze -- for him too. The corners of Rhysand’s mouth lifted into a smile, Azriel it seemed had shared some of his story, but in this moment of solidarity -- he didn’t think he minded very much of all. 

Nesta was the one who answered, the bitterness that often left Feyre feeling jaded -- replaced by a calm decisiveness, “We fight of course. There will be legal action. For Feyre’s phone there’s also the fact it’s a national security threat. And there’s the fact this isn’t the first time she’s tried libel and blackmail.” 

Rhysand’s brow rose, Cassian looked a little abashed -- Azriel responded, “Well they wanted to know who their sister was being protected by -- it’s not our fault they’re persuasive.” Cassian nodded in absolute agreement, “I was in a very compromising position and her foot was in a very delicate place and her heels had really sharp toes -- and so I told her everything she wanted to know and squealed like a rat.” 

Rhysand couldn’t help but laugh -- so maybe he wouldn’t have told Feyre’s sisters his story. It still felt too raw -- too personal. Yet he was beginning to realize that his tiny family - made of choices, was growing. With each brother choosing a sister, and with each sister choosing to accept the rest of them. It was a funny way of blending two families. And personally Rhysand wasn’t entirely sure her father would be delighted… But in theory, and it seemed in practice, it was a perfect fit. “Nesta is right however, there’s the physical evidence they’ve gotten, plus I can corroborate Amarantha’s tendencies -- and --” He was about to continue when Azriel interrupted -- 

“Cassian and I have been working on something - we’ve pooled resources, which considering my history, and current ties, and his military intelligence links -- we’ve got a pretty decent case. It won’t just disgrace her. It won’t just end her career. It will burn her to the ground until she’s nothing but ash in the wind -- and even better, we’ll get those who are pulling the strings.” Elain is clasping Azriel’s forearm, her gaze raised to his - the apprehension and fear that had been on her face, replaced by sheer adoration. 

Even Nesta was giving Cassian an appraising look - one that promised he’d be richly rewarded for having put his reputation to work. Rhysand felt emotion rising in his throat, to do this -- to risk their careers and reputations -- he was speechless. Azriel continued, “We started when you cut contact with us, when she had you. It wasn’t hard to figure out what had happened. And your distancing from us - and even Mor was what gave it away. So I started inquiring, and ran into Cassian inquiring on his own. We pooled resources and -- Amarantha has ties to the Hybern crime syndicate, Rhysand.”

The air went out of Rhysand’s lungs, he sat down heavily -- a crease in his brow. Heart ached as he felt numb -- Feyre took his hands, concern evident on her face, “Rhys? Darling what is it --” 

Rhysand’s voice felt small - a soft murmur as he answered, “My father said, before he went mad… That Hybern had my mother and sister killed -- that they were why they were dead. Before -- before he placed the blame on me -- I just --- I thought he might have been crazy already. But what if he found something?” 

Azriel cleared his throat again -- “I started this whole investigation with what he’d found Rhysand, I don’t even think -- I’m not even certain if Hybern didn’t have some role in his .. mental slip. You were at school -- and starting basic, but I’d come by the house to get some things.. And he was -- he was -- he wasn’t himself. There was never any doubt he didn’t like me, or that you’d welcomed me into the house, or that -- or that your mother had adopted me --” Rhysand interrupted him softly, “Our mother Azriel, she was our mother. She may not have given birth to you, or Cass.. But she chose you -- and choosing -- that means just as much if not more than just the same blood.” 

Honey eyes had widened as Rhysand spoke, Azriel was rarely one to show emotions -- but there was a sorrow that seemed to lift that little bit as she was referred to as their mother. “Your father had changed, dramatically - in a short time. I can get witness statements from the household staff, and neighbors and friends at the time of this. It might be enough to get a court order for exhumation -- we could possibly find the evidence that his death wasn’t just due to drink.” Feyre has remained silent during all this, her hands back around Rhysand’s -- using him to anchor her as she absorbed the full breadth of this. 

Amarantha was an expert in ruining it seemed, but Feyre had a new hope - a new outlook… Love grew even in gardens once thought to be ruined. Hope, and family - by blood or choice, and the bonds forged - those were the things that mattered. Those were the things that withstood fires and floods, even -- as she thought about the Night boy’s mother -- even death. 


	7. all good things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tamlin makes a final stand--Mor proves her worth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS GRAPHIC VIOLENCE!

Coming together also meant that somethings had to fall apart. She thinks of the lives affected by Hybern--and by extension Tamlin. A scowl crosses her face, and it’s been there for three days--it’s very reluctant to leave. Her family had survived worse than this before. The ruin of her mother’s death had nearly cost her father the presidency. She was sure that now her sisters had found people who made them happy, she could too. Even if that man was expressly off-limits. 

The ruination of Tamlin’s reputation and the dissolution of Hybern would lead to prosperity for Feyre and her sisters. 

Which was why she had to get the last word in when it came to Tamlin. 

After everything that had gone on the last few days, she thought it was best to let Tamlin wonder--and she hoped she made the right calculation to meet him for lunch in the dining hall at Georgetown--their university.

They’d discussed this at length and it was going to be so difficult for her to say goodbye to Tamlin, even though she hated his guts. He represented a time in her life-- that besides his violence had been the structure of her pre-adult years. And she’d truly loved Tamlin- even if he hadn’t loved her. Tamlin had made her feel something other than rage after her mother’s death--something she was glad of but now that the grief wasn’t burned into the backs of her eyelids, she could see the forest through the trees. There was so much that was beautiful about her life. 

She and Rhysand are riding on her way to the school. She’s going there to deal with Tamlin’s shitty behavior and she knows she might have to make a stand for herself. She turns to Rhysand in the car and gives him a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. The days are getting darker and chillier, autumn is here in earnest.

There’s so much on her mind it’s unreal. Rhysand runs a hand through her hair and she leans into his touch. 

But she thought now that the love she had felt for Tamlin was nothing but a spring blossom compared to the magnificent redwood’s worth of love she had for Rhysand. Her beautiful and broken man. 

Feyre summons as much energy as she can for the task, and when Rhysand pulls up outside the dining hall, she pops out of the passenger side door, and onto the ground.

“Be careful, Feyre darling.” Rhysand’s voice is a dark rumble on a cloud of rain. His concern for her was obvious--and Feyre was sure it would be fine. She was going to be surrounded by about a thousand people--the dining hall was always busy between noon and one o’clock. 

Feyre grins at him and she is struck by how truly beautiful he is. It doesn’t occur to her that this might be the last time she sees his face. 

She runs onto the Georgetown University campus, and waves behind her as her sometimes lover radios them in. Amren, Rhysand’s direct supervisor tells him she’s got Mor, Cassian, and Azriel waiting in the wings of the dining hall, just in case.  _ Better safe than sorry,  _ Amren laments.

Feyre knows right where Tamlin will be. It’s lunchtime, so he’ll be corralled into the dining hall. 

He’s easy enough to spot, his big body and shoulder-length blonde hair sticking out like a sore thumb. 

She thinks this will be easy, she hopes that Tamlin won’t assault her in the middle of a room packed with people. 

Tamlin sees her and snarls, her belly flip-flops nervously, and she approaches him. She’s still slightly black and blue but from the distance, his friends are sitting at they’d never be able to tell. 

“What,  _ exactly _ , do you want?” Tamlin asks rudely. “I would’ve thought you’d know better than to show that pretty face around me again--you filed false police reports about me, had me under surveillance by the  _ Secret Fucking Service _ .” Tamlin shakes his head, and she notices his fists are clenched. 

Feyre had always made excuses for his rage. She needed to stop doing that. 

“I just wanted to tell you I’m ok, and I’m taken care of and thank you for the good times while they lasted.” 

Tamlin’s eyebrows rise. “You think you can break up with me, file a restraining order against me and--ruin my reputation?” 

“Tamlin--” 

“I  _ own _ you!” Tamlin all but shouts, the table has gone very quiet. 

Feyre looks to Tamlin’s friends, some of whom knew her very well, none of them would look at her. 

“You  _ don’t _ own anything about me!” Feyre fires back, albeit unwisely. She was furious, furious that this piece of spring pond scum would try to make it seem like  _ she _ was in the wrong. She’d done what she’d had to and every moment had hurt her. She’d fought for Tamlin, and he’d only ever troubled to bruise her face. 

Tamlin stands and she realizes how much bigger, and how much stronger he is. Fear bleats through her veins. Her breathing picks up, her heart beating a staccato rhythm against her ribs. 

Tamlin slams something into her, and the breath is knocked from her lungs. She realizes it’s his body that’s slammed into her, specifically his shoulder, he catches her before she can fall and somehow manages to make the whole thing look like a big misunderstanding. It’s like a replay of all their fights before, Tamlin loved to make things about him. He’d blamed  _ her _ for his violence and her actions had always been the supposed cause of his violence. She was never not at fault--it was always her fault for the blood in her mouth. 

But as soon as they're alone, and she’s speaking words of anger, it all happens in such a blur, and somehow she ends up backhanding him across the face. Her temper has gotten the better of her and she might not live to regret it. His rage has multiplied a thousandfold and the last thing she remembers is a manic glint in Tamlin’s eyes as he crushes her throat. Luckily, her finger slips on the panic button clenched in her hand. 

Rhysand gets the signal moments later, “Back up, back up, I need backup at the Georgetown University Dining hall!” He’s shouting himself hoarse already knowing Feyre would never have pressed that button unless her life was in danger. 

His earpiece crackles to life and he pulls his gun from his holster. He knows he will likely have to take a life today. Tamlin was such a stupid piece of shit--if he’d done something in anger and it hurt Feyre Rhysand would never forgive himself. 

He’s running, running, running inside. He knows this will end with him losing his position. 

He has to get to her though, he has to save her. 

He slides into the dining hall and can see a group of people trying to get Tamlin off Feyre. “Everyone back!” 

They scatter at the sight of Rhysand’s weapon, “Everyone get back!” He hears footsteps behind him, and Morrigan is there, Azriel and Cassian too. Rhysand won’t take the chance one of his friends will become a killer. 

He couldn’t bear it if he injured someone innocent. The people peel back from the scene and he sees the terror in Feyre’s eyes, many years of training to protect the President and his family takes over. 

In the time it takes him to clear the room, Mor fires, and she’s not shooting to maim or injure. 

She’s shooting to  _ kill _ . 

Tamlin goes down like a ton of bricks and Rhysand catches Feyre in his grip. 

_ She’s not breathing.  _ Mor subdues the crowd, along with Azriel and Cassian using their bulk to keep the crowd from crushing Feyre and Rhysand.

Rhysand lays her down on the linoleum floor and begins trying to breathe life back into her. Rhysand can only think that if he fails in this--to make her live for something other than pain and grief--he won’t know what his life will be worth. 

He didn’t imagine this would be how things would end between them. 

He begs for an EMT, and after only a few breaths, Feyre gasps, and the first thing she sees is Rhysand’s face covered in blood spray and gray matter. Tamlin had made a mess when he died. 

Feyre takes great, gulping gasps of air. Mor has an oxygen mask on her with Azriel’s help in a moment. It seemed like--Azriel and Cassian had been called in especially for their expertise in handling close quarters situations. It seemed fitting that Mor, the girl Rhysand had made his friend and confidante against all odds, would end up saving his love. Rhysand here, or had at least known of his plans. It seemed monumentally stupid now. Rhysand hadn’t told anyone for that express reason. 

Rhysand’s heart feels like it’s going to quit, because of all the adrenaline pumping through him. 

Feyre clings to him, and he carries her from the scene. There was gore all over her. 

She was a bloody mess, they all were. 

But bloodshed often allowed new things to take root, after a fire or flood there was always new life. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if you're still with us after that, then we're getting to the good stuff next chapter hehehe


	8. oh my love ; do not expect my heart to not break

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With Feyre's life hanging in the balance, will Rhysand be able to keep his priorities straight?

*~*~* 

CHAPTER 8 

*~*~* 

****  
  


Time seemed to blur around him, Rhysand didn’t remember exactly who stood where, how long it took the ambulance to get there, or even how quickly backup had arrived. Time seemed to both move quickly, and pass at a snail's pace all at once. Somehow his entire being was tied into seeing the soft rise and fall of her chest, the steady beep of the heart monitor. And personal distance be damned, he was beside her all the time. 

It was Nesta who brought him coffee, who chased off the nurses who wanted all but the family to clear the room, Elain and Azriel who went to his apartment in the city who got him clothes. It was Cassian and Mor who did his paperwork, who made his excuses, who cleaned up his mess. Amren, his commander had gone over his head, ordering back up - and authorizing Cassian, Azriel and Mor to be on standby at the school. So when the time came, if things went bad -- as they had -- then it wouldn’t be Rhysand alone. He would have to remember to send her some really expensive wine when this was all over. 

Feyre intermittently gained consciousness, she was always glad to see him - but under enough sedation that nothing really seemed tangible to her. 

The president came one night after midnight when the hospital was mostly empty, allowing them privacy. It worked to their advantage when it came to keeping it out of the news cycle as much as possible. 

The President looked more haggard than he usually did when he appeared like a phantom at his daughter's bedside.

He was rubbing Feyre's hand, like a good luck charm. How long had he been there? Had Rhysand dozed off? It seemed like time was a non-entity in this hellish place.

Rhysand wiped his eyes, "She's ok."

Emotion hung heavy in the room, the agony of a father’s love as he watched a child he had raised lie silent as the grave in a hospital bed -- the sight hurting Rhysand's heart. Rhysand had never really known that kind of love from his father, he’d never been good enough; too much like his mother. Yet Rhysand had never really found the criticism in that comment, who better to be like? Drawn back from the painful past, to the no less agonizing present as the president spoke; 

"She's my little girl you know?"

Rhysand nodded, "I know, Mr. President."

"You care for her too, don't you?"

"More than you have yet to tell her."

Hardness lined President Archeron's features, "Then keep her safe so you have that chance."

Tamlin’s parents were keeping quiet, considering Amren had threatened to release every shred of evidence they had concerning his treatment of Feyre if they tried to make it something political. 

Rhysand however was checked out of politics, suddenly nothing mattered except her. Perhaps it had been a journey to this point, or maybe it had been an instant when it had dawned. Regardless, he didn’t leave her room for two weeks. They tried to remove him, but staff found themselves blockaded by an Archeron, or Mor. One day he’d manage to say thank you, find some way of thanking the people who let him fear and mourn. To grieve for what he couldn’t have protected her from, to find relief in her periods of waking, to smile when she reached for him - to find peace in the fact her first words were his name.

He felt no remorse for Tamlin’s death. Only for the pain his beloved had suffered. While Feyre healed, the bruises faded, her body grew stronger, but he could see - there were shadows behind her eyes. Shadows of wounds that would never heal. They might fade, they might dim, but they’d never disappear. As he had been marked by Amarantha’s touch, so had she by Tamlin’s. Perhaps it was why when she was released, he’d made arrangements for her to come to his family’s home. 

“Mister President -- please you have to trust me. You know I want what’s best for your daughter, and the further she is away from all of this the safer she will be. There is no where she could be safer --.” Rhysand had pleaded over the phone, she didn’t need to be here for the politics and the fanfare. 

The lies Amarantha and Hybern began to spin filling the tabloids, stories of a party girl socialite, drug problems, bad grades -- lies that wouldn’t have changed that Feyre had never deserved the treatment of Tamlin or the pain inflicted by his actions. None of that mattered, they knew the truth. Reaching for her hand where he sat beside her hospital bed, they mattered, they were the truth, the love they chose and fought for mattered. Everything else -- was just passing storms.

It was rare anyone was that candid with the president, and Archeron respected him for it. 

“Tell me Rhysand, what exactly are your intentions with my daughter? I’ll interrogate your brothers later on ---” Rhysand couldn’t help the soft chuckle as he heard the president, who would have thought when he’d taken this job that this was how it would end up. 

“Well Mister President, I am in love with your daughter. And I would like to spend the rest of my life showing her that in every way I possibly can. I would like to be beside her when she heals from this and anything else, I would like to stand beside her when she shines and the entire world sees how wrong they were. I have no desire for power or money, I don’t care about politics, I care about your daughter.” His tones were hushed, Feyre still slumbering under sedation, but he hadn’t quite gotten to tell her all that yet. 

A rumble as the President hummed, “Well Mr Night -- I will authorize her release to you and your home. I think perhaps you’re just the medicine she needed.” 

Rhysand added, “No Sir -- she was all she ever needed. I was just there when she wanted a way out.” His fingertips brushing along her palm where it rested on the bed, a half smile on his lips. 

President Archeron chuckled, “No wonder she looks at you like you invented moonlight --. Fine, she’s yours. Keep her safe. Make her happy. And when this is all over, I’d like to see you three Night’s in this room giving me an account of everything.” 

The grin couldn’t be kept out of Rhysand’s voice, “Yes Sir, of course --...” 

That was going to be a highly edited conversation… Maybe Nesta could teach Cassian how to not blurt out exactly what he was thinking the minute it entered his head? Doubtful, they’d been trying to teach him that for years.. But if anyone could, it would be Nesta.

*~*~* 

The departure from the hospital was shielded from the public, not wanting cameras to document the entire affair. The SUV ride was longer than Feyre had anticipated, of course she hadn’t been exactly alert when they’d signed out. The pain killers still in her system made her head spin and feel woozy, she watched Rhysand as they rode in the backseat, there was a tenseness in his jaw - a set she didn’t like seeing there. 

“Rhys -- I’m okay. I’m going to be okay --.” Startled from his reverie he reaches for her hand, the tenseness lifting as his smile brightens his features.

“I know my darling - I know.” Gently he lifted their twined hands to his lips as he brushed a gentle kiss to her knuckles. Violet eyes spoke volumes that went unsaid, that maybe wouldn’t ever be said, or maybe they just waited for the right time. 

Coming so close to losing her, he felt like everything was taking too long, but not enough time all at once. This mission had changed so much from the start. Protecting the spoiled party girl president’s daughter, no matter it was mostly herself she’d needed protecting from, then came Tamlin, then came -- everything else. One could forgive him for the fear that struck his heart whenever they were apart for too long. 

Such thoughts still whirled around his mind as they arrived at the estate, she was sitting up looking a bit bewildered. “---This is your home?” Coming from someone who had spent no small amount of time in presidential and gubernatorial homes he felt a flash of pride. 

“Mmm, it’s mine. But I consider it equally Cas and Az’s -- they endured as much as I did when it came to our father. Besides -- between them and Mor it was kept running while I was… tied up with Amarantha.” 

There was an abbreviated tour when they got in, staff gathering her bags and taking it to the bedroom he’d called ahead and prepared. Her energy began to flag as they left the gallery room, and adjoining solarium he’d had an art studio set up in -- “It’s beautiful, you didn’t have to do all of this for me Rhys.. I’d be happy anywhere with you--.” 

The smile that lit his features said it all, he leaned to brush a kiss to her forehead before gently lifting her in his arms, “I know - but I want to. Now -- you need to rest.” 

When he carried her bridal style into the master bedroom -- there was a titter from one of the younger serving girls who quickly rushed out. “Rest. I’ll be back to check on you -- I need to make a few final arrangements.. If you need anyone, just pull the cord by the bed -- Alright?” 

He was laying her gently to the bed, tucking pillows around her and tugging up a plush throw. Soft laughter from her as she eyed the bed, “So these are the notorious hundred and four inches… and the obscenely pricy nightstands?” 

Laughter burst out of him - it had been so long since he’d felt the relief of outright laughter. Leaning over where she lay, arms on either side of her body as he leaned to kiss her. Feyre’s lips parted willingly, a soft gasp of pleasure as she moved, trying to arch against him. Yet feeling her strain to reach him he broke the kiss, a soft hum against her lips, “Rest… Rest and I will come back to you -- and I may never leave your side again Feyre darling.”

*~*~* 

Feyre sleeps for hours, she eats a small dinner one of the maids brings up, but Rhysand doesn’t appear until nearly ten. The exhaustion is evident as he kicks off his shoes, moving quietly as he thinks she’s drifted back to sleep. Near silent footfalls take him to the bathroom, she’s inspected it already - there’s a marble bath - with jets galore, and the shower -- is to die for. Somehow it’s no surprise that this is the kind of place he’s kept, she’d asked the housekeeper who’d mentioned he’d renovated everything during his leave of absence. Feyre likes this room, it feels like him -- it’s luxurious, but it isn’t ostentatious, it’s practical and beautiful all at once. 

She waits until she hears the shower on, laying there as she considers what she’s about to do. A hum as she considers just drifting back to sleep, but of course -- curiosity drives her upwards. Moving to sit on the edge of the bed, he hums in the shower - she can hear it. Padding into the bathroom she walks into the steamy room, she can see the outline of him in the shower - and somehow he’s even more beautiful than she imagined. There’s no lack of appreciation as she watches for a few moments, the weariness of his shoulders making her pause - he sat hunched by her bed for so long, no wonder he’s tired.

A gentle hand brushes along his shoulder as she steps under the stream of hot water, “Let me ---” her fingers begin to trace the taught muscles of his shoulders, there’s a sharp inhale as he turns to watch her, love evident in his gaze.

“--I don’t think I could say no even if I wanted to… But should you be out of bed?” Violet eyes cast a glance over his shoulder as his gaze followed her movements, a hum of enjoyment as he leaned into her touch.

“You don’t have to protect me anymore Rhys -- you can let someone else take care of you... “ her hands worked down the muscles of his back, the hands of an artist following every muscled contour as she rested her cheek against his shoulder. Standing under the stream of water, still in the thin nightgown she’d changed into earlier -- but she didn’t care. The closeness to him was all that mattered, her arms slipped around his waist as she held him, the water washing away the touches of others, the ghosts of those who held them back. This was their life now. And they would take it back ---.

Turning to face her -- his hand raised to cup her cheek, tipping her head that little bit as she raised to her tiptoes to press her lips to his. Arms draping over his shoulders, her body arched to press against his. “Rhysand -- replace all the bad memories, erase every touch but yours… Please -- I  _ need _ you, I  **want** you --..” His other hand went to the small of her back, pressing her closer to him - letting her feel every inch of his need, a low hiss as she arched her hips flush to his. 

“Feyre --- darling…” The words are barely audible as his hands slid down her waist, fingers curling in the soaked fabric -- guiding it over her head in a single fluid motion.

A masterpiece -- she was beautiful, and he was ravenous. Logic perhaps dictated he should wait, he should be gentle -- he should insist it was too soon. Yet all he’d been able to think of for weeks as he’d sat beside her hospital bed, was the fear that maybe he was going to lose her, or that somehow -- somehow he’d never get to tell her everything he felt. And now, action felt as pertinent as words - a low groan as his hands slid down her back, drawing her body flush to his as he felt her wet heat pressing against his length. A shudder ran through her body as he reached to brush his fingers along her folds, her sound of pleasure was encouragement enough as he moved to tease the bud of nerves, her legs spreading easily for him as her nails raked his shoulders.

It had been so long for either since this was a pleasure shared, not something demanded or taken -- for sex to be an act of love and intimacy… built upon need and desire intertwined irrevocably with love - it only fanned the flames higher. Feyre’s breathing grew shorter and heavier as she felt his fingers working within her. Lips parted in a silent “Ohh---”, there was something to be said about a man who cared for nothing but your own enjoyment. Yet as her gaze raised to him -- her hand reaching for his length, “Darling I love your hand --- but that’s not what I want to fuck me…” there was something sensual about her voice, the faint amusement even as she continued to work against his hand, the feeling delightful even if it wasn’t her real goal. 

Amusement --- he brought his fingers to his lips to taste her, a hum as he arched his hips, the motion causing delicious friction against her hand and his length. “It isn’t what I  **really** wanted to fuck you with either --...” This wasn’t how he’d envisioned their first time together, but tragedy had bred unslacking need and here they were. Rhysand lifted one of her legs over his hip - guiding his length to her entrance with one hand, his other brushing along her inner thigh with a hum as he slowly thrust forward - sheathing himself within her. 

The noises from both were nothing but pure pleasure, it didn’t take long for them to find a rhythm that suited them, he was gentle as he ensured nothing injured would receive too much pressure -- but she did nothing but encourage him on, nails raking his shoulders - soft cries as he’d fully sheath himself in her. The only sounds interrupting the steady beat of the shower the distinct slap of skin against skin as he built his pace, his hand going to where their bodies joined, thumb brushing the bud of nerves. Dipping his head as he lapped at the silken skin of her breasts, suckling at the peaked nipple as her hands tangled in his hair with a throaty cry. Heaven must feel like this -- with each lave of his tongue, with each agonizingly steady stroke of his cock within her - memories of another were faded, love and pleasure replaced pain and sorrow. With every whisper of his name she chased away his demons, with every dig of her nails begging him for more - the shadows that clung felt that little bit further away. 

Heat built curling and tight in her womb, her leg trembling as she felt her orgasm approach, breaths coming faster and shorter as she moved restlessly against him, “ _ Fuck -- fuck -- Rhys --- Rhys--- I--- _ ” Those sweet breathless words drove him only harder and faster, taking the time to worship every inch of her as climax approached, his body tensing as it grew nearer -- his thumb worked faster against the nub of nerves, raising from where he’d lavished her breasts with his attentions. To now her lips - swallowing her cries as with a shuddering final thrust he finished, her high crashing with him only moments later. Her nails dug into his hips, as if to press him that final millimeter closer - as if he could never quite be close enough. 

The kiss lingered, both breathless as it broke -- violet eyes filled with a thousand emotions that didn’t have the right words to say all he felt - but with a low hum, his forehead rested against hers as he held them there. “--I made all those promises about the bed… and we didn’t even make it out of the bathroom… You always take me by surprise Feyre darling -- and I don’t think I’ve ever loved surprises more..” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the 8th chapter of the second longest, and only thing I've published up to this point. None of this would have been possible without Vikki's endless and magnificent ideas and support. Her handle of the characters and her fluid writing with action and dialogue inspire me. During the writing of this I've gained an enormous friend, one who I will cherish long after this sits on the annals of the interwebs gathering a sheen of dust. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I did writing it. I hope I have done justice to the characters you love. And I hope to have done justice to the wonderful Vikki <3 <3


	9. a sky full of stars, THE END

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were falling and yet... flying too.

Three weeks pass and time heals all wounds--some say. And for Feyre that is true, at least the physical wounds that had been inflicted upon her. Every day she gets stronger and grows back into herself--that is who she was before Tamlin. 

It still shocked her that the same man she’d loved deeply, had given her heart and mind to--had betrayed her like that. But hindsight is twenty-twenty, and the first day she doesn’t have to cake on makeup all over her to hide the ugly marks Tamlin had left--she goes out to lunch with Rhys and they’re swarmed by paparazzi. 

“Jesus fucking  _ Christ _ ,” Rhysand swears darkly, as they climb into the sports car Rhysand owns, an Audi R8. 

“They just want to see their princess,” Feyre says, not caring much for the pushy questions, and snapping cameras. She pulls her seat belt on and takes Rhysand’s hand as he puts his sunglasses on and they pull into traffic. 

He’s not on duty right now, and they’re just  _ a couple, out to lunch on a Saturday _ . The thought is so simple and refreshing, Feyre just doesn’t care if the press is having a field day. 

“So the President wants to know when the wedding is… what do I tell him?” 

Feyre blushes prettily, “You’d have to propose for there to be a wedding.” 

Rhys’ rumbling laughter is answer enough. 

*~*~* 

Azriel, Rhys and Cassian lead the team that takes out Hybern, a month after Feyre and Rhys are seen leaving an elite restaurant together. It had taken that long to build up the evidence and get a warrant for a simultaneous search of Amarantha’s townhouse, her office, and all the nooks and crannies where they might hide things. 

The President wanted to be kept abreast of what was going on. 

They charge into her home, at four o’clock in the morning on a Sunday, she was sure to be there, and she was, spitting and hissing, her newest victim in her bed, out cold. 

Rhysand acts every inch the badass he can be when pressed. “What do we have here?” 

The man was clearly one Amarantha had roofied and brought home. Rhysand’s blood boils, and he pistol whips her for her trouble. 

“Rhys!” Azriel reprimands, it was technically Azriel’s job to make sure this went off without a hitch. 

Mor was standing in the shadows of the bedroom, a deadly gleam in her eyes. She’d been the one who'd killed Tamlin, the main benefactor of Hybern’s plans. 

Amarantha spit blood on Rhysand’s shoes, “You never knew which way the wind was blowing did you?” 

Azriel gives Rhysand a warning look, but it’s Mor who speaks with calm efficiency.

“I killed your plaything, I put a bullet through his worthless head,” the words were stated as an impossible provocation. “If you touch my friend I’ll put two bullets through yours, so they know it wasn’t an accident.” 

Cassian groans, as he’d been the one to pull Amarantha from her bed and restrain her. “Alright, that’s enough, let’s get you downstairs.” 

Amarantha goes, and they find a signet ring with a large ‘H’ on it. 

“I bet this…” Azriel flips the ring over and sure enough, there’s a passcode on the back of it, a series of laser read dots that would open the safe they’d gotten surveillance of. Azriel smirks at his brothers. “Got her.” 

Azriel jogs down into the basement of the house, which was wet and cold, Rhys was not far behind him. When they land in the basement, Azriel squeezes Rhysand’s shoulder, “I know you’re afraid for her, Elain’s had death threats sent to her, Nesta was a wreck for weeks.  _ But you do not go off on your own _ .” Azriel’s soft reprimand reminded him that Azriel had seen so many more cruelties than Rhys had. 

They flash the back of the signet ring against the laser reader on the safe, and the lock pops. 

Azriel doesn’t open the safe, instead, he shouts, “Get down!” 

Rhys and Azriel dive for shelter under the stairs, and moments later the basement shudders violently, flames lighting everything on fire. 

It’s chaos, and Rhys is trying to radio in, “We need back up!” Rhys can hear Amarantha’s laughter, high and cold in the flames. Azriel is knocked out, and what about Cassian? 

Rhys hauls Azriel over his shoulder, the smoke and flames are all-consuming, frightening in their ferocity. 

He nearly trips and stumbles on the last step, Cassian is lying on the floor, knocked unconscious by flying debris. 

It’s Rhysand who carries both his brothers out on his shoulders, his knees nearly buckling under their weight. 

_ What about Mor? _ She must’ve been on the second floor still. 

Cassian and Azriel are dropped to the soft grass outside the house, and Rhysand runs back into the burning building, which will certainly explode at any moment. 

“Mor!” Rhys calls, he knows he has only moments until the whole place goes  _ boom _ . “Mor! C’mon, we gotta go!” 

“In here,” he hears someone say weakly. 

“Fucking hell,” he swears, his voice waning from the smoke. He coughs, chokes on the fumes. 

“Rhys, what the fuck are you doing in here?” Mor was huddled in the corner, her blonde hair dirty, and face smudged with soot. 

Rhys doesn’t wait to answer, just scoops his friend up and  _ runs with the wind _ . 

When he gets outside, his brothers are far, far away from the house, and as he runs away from the blazing house, now beginning to crumble on him, running toward his brothers, the house explodes. 

_ Where was Amarantha?  _

The shockwave knocks them all to the ground and it’s truly a rookie mistake to not have had the house checked for booby traps. Mor is ok, Azriel and Cassian, they’re all ok. 

And Rhys doesn’t want Feyre to worry. 

So he texts her simply,  _ I’m ok _ . She doesn’t answer, and that’s probably because it’s so early. He hopes she went back to bed. 

His ray of sunshine in the darkest night. 

*~*~* 

Feyre is devastated to find out that Amarantha, along with her compatriots at the Hybern crime syndicate, have escaped overseas, though they are now hunted. Not only are they hunted, but Azriel himself is doing the hunting. 

Feyre, Rhys, and Cassian are all benched. Rhys is given two weeks paid leave. Everyone is ok but shaken and scared for Elain and Azriel, who had declared their engagement just two days prior. 

Elain is strong, stronger than she’d ever known she could be, while they all lick their wounds, Elain gets word on the sat phone--on a Sunday no less that Azriel is on a flight home, Amarantha in custody. 

Elain gives a great whoop of joy and whispers something to Azriel on the phone, they were all there, and Feyre gently guides Nesta, Cassian, Rhys and her father from the room. 

Elain babbles animatedly to Azriel and though Feyre doesn’t know exactly what it’s about, she has a feeling… 

She has a feeling Elain is pregnant, call it female intuition, but she knows. 

*~*~* 

EPILOGUE 

*~*~*

Azriel, Cassian, and Rhys ring in the new year by watching Amarantha’s trial on CSPAN like a tennis match. The girls were still recovering from their ordeal. 

Feyre has wounds that won’t heal. 

Azriel has new scars. 

Cassian’s mind is torn between wanting to marry Nesta and wanting to run away from it all. 

But Rhys? Rhys is just happy they were all together for the Holidays. 

And with the New Year now here, he thinks so many things will change. 

Nesta is opening a flower shop with Elain, Nesta has promised to scare away any creeps, which she is indeed good at. Elain is three months pregnant, and they couldn’t be happier, it’s nearly difficult to think about how much life has changed in nearly five months. 

Feyre curls up to Rhys later that night after Amarantha had been convicted, Tamlin was in the ground and now all seemed settled. 

He’s sitting in a wingback chair, nursing a thumb’s worth of whiskey, she curls into his side. “I love you.” She says softly as the flames begin to die down. 

There’s silence for a long moment, “I’m glad I found you, I’m glad it all happened. I’m so fucking thankful that everything happened the way it did because it led me to you, and if I could take back half the pain and suffering I would.” 

Feyre smiles, “Only half?”

Rhys pulls her into his lap and kisses her soundly. The world turns, but they do not change. 

“You cannot have light without darkness, without the night sky we cannot see the stars shine.” 

“You are my light,” Feyre says affectionately. 

“And you are mine.” 

THE END 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who stuck with us from the beginning. Thank you to those of you just tuning in. 
> 
> This has been a wonderful journey. Lyddy and I are essentially writing soulmates so I'm sure there will be more in the same vein from us. 
> 
> Lyddy (Amoredish's) [tumblr](https://azrielswingspans.tumblr.com) / Vikki (azriel's) [tumblr](https://feyesand.tumblr.com) / [twitter](https://www.twitter.com/sanktaleks) / [the sjm writers discord](https://discord.gg/r6jytAE) / [the sjm big bang](https://feyesand.tumblr.com/post/629433277072146432/welcome-to-the-a-court-of-silver-flames-big)
> 
> We love you! 
> 
> xo - Lyddy and Vikki

**Author's Note:**

> Please subscribe if you enjoy this! Feedback makes this wretched year about 100 times better !


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